Intellectual but never academic, the composer / conductor’s oboe concertos bear a serious demeanor. But three of them? Maderna thought the oboe ideal for delivering the perfect aulodia (melody). In the First, the soloist bounces between oboe, oboe d’amore and English horn. Orchestral flourishes rich in exotic percussion interrupt spiky cadenzas. The Second’s opening wind chords suggest an accordion, late Stravinsky or, paraphrasing another reviewer’s observation, an overture to the careers of a few Dutch composers. Menzel’s liquid sound shimmers loftily in the central concerto, evaporating into beguiling mobiles. The shortest of the three, the Third, displaying brash tuttis and piercing shrieks quite unlike the earlier concertos’ sparse chamber textures, arrays soloist and orchestra like estranged colleagues.

For the 26th release of its ambitious Vivaldi undertaking, Naïve offers works featuring mandolin or lute. (The four lute works, RV 82, 85, 93 and 540, were previously released on Naïve 8587; the mandolin concertos were recorded in 6/2006.) Quite unlike yesteryear’s overstuffed performances, these sparkly, intimate performances generally allot a single instrument to each ensemble part. Generations have been imprinted with the slow movement of the D major concerto, RV 93, as the backdrop for one of Sesame Street’s early music videos, and the C major concerto, RV 425, was (ab)used on Kramer vs. Kramer’s soundtrack. RV 425 unwinds delicately, pizzicato strings matching the gentle mandolin. The troupe sensitively shapes phrases with crescendos and decrescendos especially in the dreamy slow movements. No conductor is specified, so presumably nimble-fingered Lislevand leads. (Players include Manfredo Kraemer and Guido Morini.) These lute and mandolin concertos brighten the soul.

Ever a romancer of the past, Berio revered Classical forms. Only one Sinfonia and Quartetto left his workshop, and in 2001, he completed his sole sonata, a large, 23-minute single movement for piano alone. The work’s dedicatee, musicologist Reinhold Brinkmann’s booklet remarks divulge three featured ingredients: Wagner’s Tristan chord, the E major / E-flat major chord from Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring and the opening repeated chord from Stockhausen’s Klavierstücke IX. However, these historically weighty verticalities are anything but obvious. Berio’s Sonata is not a scholar’s buffet. From the outset we meet a repeated note, as in Le Gibet from Ravel’s Gaspard de la Nuit, which operates as a tightrope upon which filigree and outbursts dance and mingle. Lucchesini admirably delineates simultaneous moods and layers. I hear connections with the Sinfonia’s final movement and Eindrücke (1973-74), orchestral works balancing stasis and frenzy. Most tellingly, the Sonata offers embellishments and crystalline improvements upon Sequenza IV’s comparatively angular lines. Even within Lucchesini’s felicitous interpretation, Sequenza IV comes across as an antique junk drawer.

The six encores, Brin (1990), Leaf (1990), Wasserklavier (1965), Erdenklavier (1969), Luftklavier (1985), and Feuerklavier (1989) waft by like airborne seeds, each with its texture or mode. The nostalgic Wasserklavier breathes Brahmsian vapors. Rambunctious Rounds strictly notates a graphically indicated harpsichord bagatelle. The Lucchesini husband-and-wife duo premiere Touch and Canzonetta, two unpublished four-hand miniatures written as gifts for the pianists’ family. Regrettably, these are not Berio’s complete piano works. David Arden’s 1996 New Albion disc (NA 089) staked that claim, obviously lacking the Sonata, but including the succinct, neo-classical Petite Suite (1947) which Lucchesini’s program could easily have absorbed. Cinque Variazioni remains the only apprentice work, a Dallapiccola-influenced collection.

Babbitt’s All Set is a snazzy twelve-tone piece for jazz ensemble. Were it scored for a Pierrot ensemble it might seem bone dry, and if a jazz combo were provided atonal charts, this wouldn’t be the result. Regardless, I can’t help but listen and grin throughout.

Babbitt’s All Set is a snazzy twelve-tone piece for jazz ensemble. Were it scored for a Pierrot ensemble it might seem bone dry, and if a jazz combo were provided atonal charts, this wouldn’t be the result. Regardless, I can’t help but listen and grin throughout.

The music unfolds in a great arc of color, motion and sweep. One is reminded of an hallucination owing to the music’s lack of obvious form – as if no bar lines or structure existed. Arthur Rubinstein called it “wind howling around the gravestones.”

The music unfolds in a great arc of color, motion and sweep. One is reminded of an hallucination owing to the music’s lack of obvious form – as if no bar lines or structure existed. Arthur Rubinstein called it “wind howling around the gravestones.”

We come to a third and final installment in a survey of Atopos recordings. It’s not that I’ve saved the best for last, but rarities, yes. Any recordings of Vinko Globokar and Jean-Pierre Drouet, whether together or separate, are a reason to celebrate.

We come to a third and final installment in a survey of Atopos recordings. It’s not that I’ve saved the best for last, but rarities, yes. Any recordings of Vinko Globokar and Jean-Pierre Drouet, whether together or separate, are a reason to celebrate.